


mon amour, dans la vie et la mort

by venusforgotten (vanillashores)



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, Flower Crowns, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Jealousy, M/M, Medjed - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reader-Insert, Short One Shot, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-12-30 16:32:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18319082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillashores/pseuds/venusforgotten
Summary: Drabbles, one-shots, and other fics.





	1. Flower Crowns (Foreigner!Gilgamesh)

        Watching Gil weave the flowers together was mesmerizing. The way his large fingers danced over the petite stems, braiding them together delicately with a technique that could only have taken years to perfect. He worked deftly, the Amaryllis he was using coming together to form a crown of scarlet reds, creamy whites and forest greens. I wondered how someone so intimidating, someone who showed no mercy to those who opposed him could entwine the stems of flowers together so delicately.  

        Gil glanced up, stopping his progress to shift his attention up to me. He blinked slowly, before setting the crown down beside him and crossing his legs. He gestured towards me with a nod of his head, and I crawled over from in front of him to sit in his lap. He sighed contently, hunching over me to rest his chin on the crown of my head. He retrieved the ring of flowers with one hand and, using the Gate of Babylon, dropped another handful of Amaryllis flowers into his hand. His arms came to rest around my waist, resuming his work on the crown in front of me.

        I closed my eyes and leaned back against his chest. It was times like these, the tender moments in private, where I received most of Gil's affection. He was truly a Foreigner class servant; He looked and acted the complete antithesis of his other forms: He spoke little, kept to himself, and rarely gave any form of physical contact. When compared to those other versions of himself, he seemed beast-like with his sharpened nails and staggering height. He fully accepted his divinity and wore less armor, instead opting for jewelry or loose-fitting robes. 

        But that didn't matter. I loved him for him, not for how he compared or contrasted to his other selves. I loved his poetry, his writings, how he cared little about how he was perceived. I adored how he held himself, the way he communicated through small gestures, how his emotion reflected in his eyes.

        Gil hummed, lifting his chin off my head and resting his hands under my arms. He turned me around and I wrinkled my nose in confusion. He only smirked, reaching behind me and setting the now finished crown on my head. He gave me a once-over, ruby eyes traveling over my form before landing back on my face. His smirk softened, becoming less teasing and more passionate and tender. 

        "I didn't know you could make flower crowns, Gil." I mused. His eyes flashed with amusement, before he lifted an open palm. The Gate opened again, and this time multiple flower crowns fell into his awaiting hands. I gaped. Gilgamesh, King of Uruk, who commanded a legion of lions, who was nine-feet tall with clawed hands, and adorned in gold, found solace and entertainment in making flower crowns? How endearing.

        He returned the crowns to the gate and reached up, adjusting the crown on my head. Gil stared again before leaning down and planting a chaste kiss on my forehead. I flushed, smiling warmly at him. He just dropped his head to my shoulder, a purr building in his chest. 

        I reached up, stroking his hair from beneath his crown. All was silent, save for Gil's rumbling purrs, and I was content.


	2. Silence (Foreigner!Gilgamesh)

All was quiet in the halls of Chaldea; Walking through the halls felt like walking through a new dimension, the familiar chatter and hustle missing. I turned the corner, almost expecting Cu to jump at me in an attempt to make me jump, or Fou and Merlin to run past me, the wizard desperate to escape the ferret chasing him down the halls. Instead, I was met with nothing. The silence seemed suffocating, but I trudged onwards towards my room.

        Arriving at my door, I hesitantly opened it, holding my breath as my room was slowly revealed. The door revealed my room, and I glanced in, checking for something or someone to explain the lack of action in Chaldea's halls. Instead, I met the gaze of two flaming ruby eyes.

        Gil sat on my bed, legs crossed while his arms rested on his chest, covering the red-to-purple ombréd tattooes that decorated his skin. I bit my lip, hoping the Foreigner-class servant didn't do anything to scare away the other servants inhabiting the facility. He was quite intimidating, after all, and most of the residents in Chaldea avoided him at all costs.

        When I had summoned Gil, he had stared at me silently, looking me over with blank, emotionless eyes. He didn't greet me boisterously like his Archer form, nor did he make an attempt to introduce himself like his Caster form. The silence that came from Gilgamesh was frightening and daunting, to say the least. Regardless, I had made it my mission to befriend the servant, as I had with every servant I had summoned thus far.

        Over time, I had come to to bond with him, despite his lack of speech. Gil communicated mostly through looks and actions: A shift of his stance could mean he was annoyed, his gaze could go from blank to smoldering with fury in seconds. He reminded me of a cat, mostly silent and distant, but affectionate in private. Before I knew it, we had a much closer relationship with him than any other servant I had contracted with.

        The shifting of fabric broke me out of my thoughts; Gil had moved his arms from his chest to his thighs. He blinked slowly, pupils widening from their normally cat-like slits as he continued to gaze at me. I crossed my arms, shifting from one foot to the other as I thought of what to say.

        “What happened to the other servants, Gil?” I asked softly. His eyes narrowed as his eyebrows furrowed, hands clenching from their position on his thighs. Gil was clearly not in the mood to talk about anyone else. I rubbed my arms, suddenly finding the spot on the floor in front of me interesting.

        Gil grunted, annoyed, and I glanced back up in the hopes that he had calmed slightly. Gil had closed his eyes, relaxing before giving me a half-lidded stare. The crown resting upon his head faded away, along with the floating necklace and bracelets on his wrists as he gestured towards me, before patting his thighs with gloved hands.

        “I can't right now, Gil. It's too quiet for Chaldea, y’know? Once I find everyone, I can come back, but you’re going to have to wait.”

        Gil smirked, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he silently laughed at me. He leaned back against my headboard as he closed his eyes again, before crooking his finger towards me in a ‘come here’ gesture. I remained firm,keeping my feet planted to the floor as I glared at him half-heartedly. 

        The next thing I knew, I was overtaken by a tingling sensation. I looked down, watching as my feet lifting from the ground, engulfed in a golden aura.

        “Gil-!” I was cut off as I tilted mid-air, floating towards him in a way that would be comical if I was not in my current situation. He only chuckled softly, meeting my eyes as his shit-eating smirk widened at my predicament.

        Finally, he released me from his telepathy, dropping me into his awaiting arms. Before I could sit up properly, Gil adjusted me before finally settling into a comfortable position. 

        My face was flush against his chest as his arms circled around my waist. He hummed, chin coming to rest on my head. My legs were wrapped around his waist, while he stretched out over the sheets on my bed. My face burned, while Gil hummed softly onto my hair. 

        Using my arms, I rested my hands on his abs and tried desperately to push him away, the thought of missing the missing staff and servants still fresh on my mind. When that didn't work, I planted my heels on the mattress and tried to push myself away. Gil just tightened his arms around waist, effectively trapping me against him until I stopped. Sighing, I dropped my head against his chest and circled my arms around him. 

        I could almost feel the smirk on Gil's face, a low rumble echoing in his chest as he started to purr. The sound was soothing, and I was once again reminded of how cat-like he was as a foreigner. I shut my eyes, the combination of both the body-heat from Gil, the calm and quiet of the room and his relaxing purrs lulling me to sleep.

        It wouldn't be too bad, staying like this for a while before looking for everyone who was missing, right?


	3. Medjed (Beowulf/Nitocris)

  Beowulf loved the Medjeds. Of course, he’d never admit it.

        Whenever another servant or Master asked him while he always perked up or smiled whenever they entered the room, he always had an excuse on hand. ‘They’re endearing’, or ‘It’s funny to watch them move things without arms’, or ‘They’re cute’. However, he knew why he really loved the Medjeds: They were intrinsically connected to Nitocris, and he loved Nitocris. It seemed almost natural to love them as he loved her, since one was always near her. In fact, most of his happiest memories since being summoned as a servant have been with Nitocris, while a Medjed lurked nearby.

-

        Beowulf enjoyed his downtime with Nitocris. Master had taken the other, more rowdy servants out, so the halls of Chaldea were relatively calm. Beowulf’s back was to the wall, his legs spread out in front of him. Nitocris’s head rested on his thighs, her eyes closed in content. He ran a hand through her hair absentmindedly, enjoying the peace.

        However, he couldn’t help but notice the chill invading the area. Despite the many space heaters Chaldea used, the frigid air from the mountaintop still invaded through the glass windows. He shivered, noting the lack of clothing both he and Nitocris wore. Perhaps, she was cold too? He would have to do something about that.

        Before he could, a blur of color caught his attention. A Medjed was rushing down the hall, it’s legs moving as fast as it could go. Beowulf felt a smile crawl onto his face, watching the creature sprint down the hall in a flurry of leg and sheet. The medjed arrived, dipping its head. Nitocris sat up, graciously accepting a folded blanket from it.

        “Thank you.” She hummed. Beowulf felt his eyebrows furrow.

        “What’s that for, Nito?” He inquired. He knew what it was for; He more so wondered why she had one brought to them when she didn't seem cold. She turned around to face him, eyes shining in amusement. She held the blanket out in front of her.

        "For you, Beo. I felt you shiver so I asked a Medjed to bring us a blanket.” She mused.

        “I wasn’t cold, I was shivering from the pure delight I feel when we're together!” Beowulf laughed heartily. Nitocris’s cheeks flushed, a color he loved seeing on her, and he accepted the blanket from her outstretched hands.

        He wrapped the blanket around his arms and back, before lifting the one closest to Nitocris. He gestured towards it with his head, watching Nitocris crawl under his arm and rest her head on his chest. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, covering the two of them in the blanket fully. Beowulf sighed, please, and rested his cheek on her head.

-

        He felt warm, thinking about cuddling up close to Nitocris. He stood up from his spot on the floor of the hallway, suddenly bored. He started down the hall, deciding to look for Nitocris. Chaldea was boring, when he really thought about it. The most entertainment he had gotten before Nitocris was punching monsters with Master during missions. It made him detest being summoned, deep down. What was the point, if all he did was destroy things? He enjoyed it, but he wanted to do something else, to go on an adventure where he punched things and had fun doing so. After Nitocris was summoned, however, he truly enjoyed his time in Chaldea.

-

        Beowulf kept an arm around Nitocris’s waist, watching the Medjed hurry around, cleaning the mess as best as they could. Nitocris had built a fort of pillows and sheets in Master’s room to please the golden pharaoh, the man she called 'My King', much to Beowulf's displeasure (He would still respect her decision to do so, as long as she called him better pet names). The pharaoh had fallen asleep and left Nitocris to do the cleaning work by herself, despite the overwhelming amount of work she had to do. He had been especially angry about that, but Nitocris had assured him that she didn’t care, so he resisted the urge to punch the golden man.

        Speaking of which, the Medjed had surrounded the sleeping man and were trying to somehow shift him from his spot on a makeshift pillow-throne. Beowulf chuckled under his breath, watching as the man- Ozy..Ozyman? Ozymantis? Who cared- snored soundly, drool leaking from his open mouth. How kingly. He could admit that he was jealous of the man before, wishing that Nitocis would pamper him like that. Now, however, he was more then sure that the golden king was jealous of the way Nitocris treated Beowulf; This made him more than happy.

        He wasn’t here to poke fun at the golden king, however. He was here to spend time with Nitocris. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as she smiled at the passing Medjed. Her smile, god he loved her smile. He loved how it lit up her eyes, how her cheeks puffed out slightly, how her ears twitched slightly when she was happy. Nitocris turned to him, her smile widening.

        Beowulf smiled in return, before leaning down and kissing the crown of her head, right between her ears.

-

        He checked a mental list of the places she could be. Out with Master, in Master’s room, or out in the hallways roaming. He hoped it was the latter, because if she was out with Master it could be hours before she was back. He couldn’t wait hours, that’s for sure. He wanted to be next to Nito, to hold her close to him and kiss her, to watch as she became flustered or to watch her smile. Waiting hours for that would be pure torture, would be worse than fighting Grendel or his ghastly mother.

-

        Beowulf and Nitocris sat across from each other in the Canteen. The muted chatter in the background did nothing to disturb the pleasant atmosphere between the two.

        Although Heroic Spirits didn’t have to eat, Beowulf occasionally loved going to the Canteen to gorge himself on the food, the taste alone bringing him joy. He was on his third hamburger, halfway through the delectable food even though he had just gotten it.

        Nitocris watched him, a small smile on her face as she drank a cup of coffee. He loved how she could understood him with minimal communication; Beowulf could never come up with the right words to tell her how much she truly meant to him. Instead, he was content in exchanging adequate words, letting her do all the talking,and showing her affection through his gestures.

        As he shoved the final bit of burger into his mouth, already standing up to grab another, a Medjed popped in front of him. It dropped another plate of food in front of him from its head, before scurrying off to do whatever Medjed did in their free time. Beowulf stared at it for a second, before looking up to Nitocris.

        “I love you so much, Nito. How did you know?” He beamed.

        “I can tell. Motherly instinct, maybe?” She chuckled, taking another sip of her coffee. Beowulf felt his cheeks flush. She read him like an open book.

-

        He turned the corner, and almost ran into a group of Medjed. They surrounded him, before parading down a different hall. Beowulf, caught in the middle, could do nothing but stumble forward, following them to wherever they were taking him. The group turned down the maze-like hallways too quickly for Beowulf to memorize. He could only hope they were taking him to the right place.

        Finally, they arrived at their location; The door leading to the room with the glass ceiling. He forgot exactly what it was for, but Chaldea did have a lot of empty rooms so he doubt it was anything important. The Medjed dispersed, heading their separate ways as Beowulf opened the door.

        Inside the room, Nitocris sat on a blanket, legs crossed, elbow resting on her thigh while her cheek was propped on her open palm. She turned at the sound of the door opening, smiling widely at him.

        “Beo! I hope you don’t mind, but I thought we could stargaze tonight? Since the other servants are gone,so we won’t be interrupted.” Her smile turned sheepish as she patted the spot next to her on the blanket. He smirked. Boy, did he adore the Medjed; And, god, did he love Nitocris.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when you aren't happy with it, rewrite it completely


	4. Pride (F!Gilgamesh, Archer!Gilgamesh)

Gilgamesh hated the new servant.

        He had never truly realized how much he had craved Master’s attention until it had been taken away from him. He never thought about how often Master was away from him until they were never around. He had never known how much he had needed Master’s affection until now.

        Gilgamesh absolutely, undoubtedly, abhorred the new servant.

        He had confided to Enkidu about his problems; How neglected he felt, how he wished Master would return to paying most of their attention to him. Enkidu had laughed, telling him that he was jealous. Gilgamesh instantaneously felt disgusted. He was not jealous. He couldn’t be. He wasn’t.

        Gilgamesh was displeased about the new servant, sure, but envious? Never. What was there to be jealous of? The man was beastly, with claws and fangs and a cold, unfeeling gaze. He never spoke, and had accepted his divinity. He wore so much jewelry he looked gaudy, and the change in color on his tattoos almost distracted from how he traded armor for flowing clothes and a floating crown. Truly, he was just as his name suggested: Foreign. He was an alien, a beast. He had nothing Gilgamesh would want- Save, for Master’s attention. However, he would not have it for much longer.     

        He smirked to himself, arriving at his destination. It took a bit of demanding, but he had managed to find the location of the foreign him, the alien. Gilgamesh paused for a second, testing the word again. Alien. He chuckled softly. The perfect name for the other him. To call him a foreigner would be acknowledging his class, and would, therefore, recognize him as another version of himself. Calling the man an alien would point out how strange and otherworldly he was, while also disowning him from truly being another version of Gilgamesh. Alien it is.

        He opened the door to Master's room, smirk on display as he prepared himself to give the Alien a piece of his mind. He was shocked, however, to find both Master and Enkidu in the room as well. They sat in a semicircle; Master was busy adjusting a flower crown on Enkidu’s head while the Alien silently made another. Both Enkidu and Master were with the Faker? He felt... slightly betrayed. Why did they insist on mingling with the Alien when he was there, lacking the attention a king such as himself rightfully deserved? Gil’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, before he quickly crossed his arms over his chest to hide his anger.

        “Oh, Mongrel, Enkidu? What are you doing here with… him?” Gilgamesh asked, lifting his chin and looking down at the Alien from the bridge of his nose. He was ignored, much to his pleasure, while Master continued to adjust Enkidu's crown while the Faker braided more flowers together.

        "Making flower crowns. Do you want one too, Gil?” Master smiled teasingly, readjusting the bellflower crown on Enkidu’s head before turning to him. He huffed and frowned. Enkidu looked at him, their gaze questioning.

        “Of course not, Mongrel. I came here to speak to the Faker.” Gilgamesh made a slight nod towards the Alien, keeping his eyes trained on Master.

        "I thought you despised him. Why would you need to talk to him now?" Enkidu tilted their head at Gil, while Master stared, mouth opened in shock. He furrowed his brows.

        "I have a few questions I'd like to ask privately. Can you not allow that, Master?" Gilgamesh inquired, keeping his gaze stern. Master took a deep breath, before standing.

        "I can't stop you, Gil. C'mon, Enkidu, let's go find Caster." Master held their hands out to Enkidu, who took them. Master helped Enkidu up before the pair reluctantly left the room. Caster? They must have meant the older version of himself. He didn't quite understand why Enkidu and Master insisted on spending so much time with the other him, since the man had more wrinkles and was far too engrossed in work and had too many wrinkles. Nevertheless, he was a much better option than the filthy Faker.

        When the footsteps from the two had faded, he turned his full attention towards the other servant in the room. The Alien continued making his flower crown, indifferent towards him. Gilgamesh furrowed his brows, lips pulling back into a sneer. Who did he think he was, acting as if he wasn’t there? Perhaps he was attempting to look distant, as if he didn’t care? Did he think he was better than him, sitting on the floor looking like a child and weaving flowers together like one?

        “Who do you think you are, Alien? Coming here, pretending as if you don’t care about my mongrel, feigning indifference to them and stealing their attention away from me?” He sneered. The other servant only looked up, staring blankly before returning to his work. Gilgamesh felt animosity build in his chest at the Alien’s lack of response. He strode forward, stopping just shy of the Faker. The Alien looked up, meeting his gaze.

        “Your lack of response makes you foolish. Tell me, did accepting your divinity make you as simple as Ishtar? To think you could come here, divert my rightful affection from my Mongrel to yourself and get away with it? Just because you have stolen my image does not mean you will replace me. You should take your rightful place with the other filth that call themselves ‘gods’ as far away from my Mongrel as possible.” Gilgamesh snarled.

        The Faker stopped his ministrations before standing up. He towered over Gilgamesh, looking down at him with inhospitable red eyes. Gil returned the gaze with just as much malice. The Alien’s face remained blank, before he lifted his chin and glared at Gilgamesh from the bridge of his nose. He had no idea how badly Gilgamesh wanted to wipe the impassive expression of his face, to watch as his emotionless facade crumbled. Surely, that would put the servant in his place.

        “I can see why Master no longer wants to be in your presence. Perhaps if you toned down your childish attitude and stopped acting like a brat who has not gotten your way then they would accompany you more often. Calling them 'my mongrel' like some belonging must push them away.” The Faker’s voice came out dry and husky, seeming to catch in his throat. It was scratchy, and seemed unfitting for someone who counted themselves as 'divine'. Gilgamesh gawked, stunned, as the Faker walked past him and left.

        Not only did the Alien speak, but he scorned Gilgamesh in the same breath? Gilgamesh fought the heat rising to his cheeks. He had been scolded as if he were a child, just as the Faker had called him. He swallowed thickly, dropping his arms from his chest to his sides as he relaxed. He could not lose his cool; It would let him win. So, he instead turned around and started to seek out his Master. He could use his wounded pride as a guise to gain back affection from them. He closed his eyes and smirked. Perhaps Master would also shun the Alien for his harsh words? Gilgamesh hummed.

        Maybe the Faker wasn't as useless as he seemed.


End file.
